My Little Poet
by All the OTPs
Summary: Jehan loves Courfeyrac. There is no simpler way in putting it. He writes poetry about the young Irish man that he would never show to him in a million years because he could never obviously feel the same way about him... surely? It is impossible, right? Jehan/Courf, Grantaire/Enjolras - Rating may change later on! (Chapter 3 is up!)
1. Cafe Musain

**My Little Poet**

**A/N:** So I thought I would right something fluffy for my new favorite musical/book of all time. (seriously though I am obsessed with it... not healthy!) and it is obvious that Jehan and Courf are /the/ most adorable couple!

**SUMMARY: **Jehan loves Courfeyrac. There is no simpler way in putting it. He writes poetry about the young Irish man that he would never show to him in a million years because he could never obviously feel the same way about him... surely? It is impossible, right?

**Warnings:** It will eventually include some fluffy smut, will include swearing and just general adorableness from Jehan.

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Les Miserables, it's all down to the genius of Victor Hugo and the writers of the musical (don't we all wish we owned Les Mis?), I do not own the characters and all that jazz. Just the story-line!

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It was no surprise to find the little poet sat in the local café with his head stuffed into his notebook, scribbling away every single thought and feeling that came into his mind. It no was surprise to see him staring longing at a particular member of Les Amis de L'ABC, in a similar way to how Grantaire, the drunk, would look at Apollo. Of course, nobody could blame the drunkard for staring at the blonde haired man who ran their ever growing group of rebellious students. Enjolras was a man who could be capable of being cruel and yet he was not, he had no partner or any form of relationship; he was committed to Patria, his home country. France was his one and only love, much to Grantaire's great disappointment, but sometimes the glances between the pair made people talk and wonder. Not everyone was so private when it came to their love life, some people were already married and others were in relationships that sparked many of Jehan's poetry. Marius Pontmercy was no exception, even though most of the gang hated hearing him go on and on about his one true love, making comments on how he had only known her for a few days, but for Jehan it was the most beautiful thing in the entire world. How could anyone take those feelings and put onto paper, nobody knew, but Jehan always seemed to find a way and make it sound so beautiful, it could calm a storm or put a baby to sleep. The Amis often wondered who the mysterious person was who seemed to be the subject of many of his poems; it was obvious that it was someone close to him. Of course Jehan never told anyone, nor did he actually plan to tell anyone anytime soon. Forever would it be his secret of unrequited love. Surely /he/ would not feel the same way as he did.

So like on any other day, Jehan was sat in the café, scribbling in his note book once again. The meeting was not due until later, but he had already finished all of his studies for the day and didn't fancy going home to an empty apartment. Instead he thought he could get some writing done. He was particularly proud of his current piece that he was writing, but he was having trouble coming up with the ending. He wasn't quite happy with the way he had currently finished it and felt that it required something… more. He pouted, looking down at his work so far, letting out a sigh as he read over the scribbles with a mutter, so that nobody would hear him and think he was pathetic:

"I wrote this letter especially for you

To prove that my love for you is true

Never shall I kiss someone else's lips

After kissing you I have yet to come to grips"

He paused, pouting his lips once again before quickly scribbling on the paper before continuing:

"With our love combined everything is in reach

Meeting you for the first time, I was without speech

The moment I saw you my heart was sold

I dream that together we will grow old"

"We met each other, some time ago

Since then my love for you did only grow

You are my sweetheart day by day

I hope you will never go away"

"This gift is for you, I hope you will like it

Hoping to capture your heart, bit by bit

I look forward to our next moment together

With you, life cannot become any better"

Every time he read over and over nothing would come to mind, it did not matter if he read it aloud or read it inside his head. The words would not come, he even took a break to have coffee and a snack, but there was nothing. Nothing at all that would fit with the ending, maybe because in his mind – the intended recipient was too perfect for words. That may have sounded so cheesy to the point in which people might through up, but to Jehan it was true. How could Jehan find the perfect words for someone who is already perfect? Surely it was an impossible thing?

"Ugh! C'est impossible!" The young French man growled and slammed his pen down, smacking his head onto the glass table lightly. "J'abandonne!" He cried, getting a couple of odd looks from the people around him, he glanced over at them with a sheepish smile, muttering a small apology before looking back at the paper. Instead of writing any more, he grabbed his wallet from his bag and sulked over to the bar, glancing at the menu, he was a sucker for sweet things, especially sweet pastries. "Un Café et un pâtisserie fruits*, s'il vous plaît." He said to the round woman behind the bar, giving her a toothy grin before handing over the correct change. Thankfully it didn't take very long for him to get his order, the café was pretty quiet anywhere. Most students were at the university, those younger were at school still. Jehan didn't mind being alone though; it allowed him to write and to let his mind wander off to a particular Amis. He sighed, taking his order over to the table, catching his reflection in the mirror and pouted. He clearly hadn't made an effort today, he had his hair in his usual plait over a shoulder with a couple of flowers braided into it, people used to make fun of him… but not the Amis. They accepted him, flowers and all. He glanced down at the overly large jumper he was wearing, looking at the reflection again, the sleeves were so long, the tips of his fingers could only be seen and the length of the jumper came down to the middle of his thigh, his t-shirt could be seen slightly that he was wearing under the jumper thanks to the neck of the jumper falling off his shoulder. He had worn the jumper once and was told that he looked cute in it, you can guess it was by the man he often day dreams over, and decided to wear it as often as he could. Other than that, he was wearing his usual black, skinny jeans and his trainers. He had often been told he was 'cute' or 'adorable' by the other members of Les Amis, but Jehan was used to it. Only one had a special nickname for the poet that really meant anything to Jehan.

"Jehan! Wakey wakey!"

Jehan snapped out of his small day dream to the sound of someone calling out his name and snapping his fingers in front of his face. Jehan blinked for a few moments, waiting for his brain to process the person now sat next to him. His face immediately lit up when he finally recognised the face.

"Courfeyrac!" He almost cheered, cursing slightly to himself because he sounded so happy to see him. Well of course he was happy, but he shouldn't be /that/ happy around Courf, or he might suspect something. All the thoughts made Jehan blush slightly before looking at Courf who had already grabbed a fork and taken a large bite out of Jehan's pastry that had been on the plate in front of him, untouched. "Hey! That was mine!" He pouted, grabbing his own fork and taking a mouthful, he better get some of his snack before Courfeyrac ate all of it himself.

"Was it? I thought you bought it for me?" Courf grinned, almost making Jehan turn bright red again. He loved his smile, his curly locks and above all he loved his Irish accent, this man's voice alone could make Jehan's knees feel weak. Jehan gave Courf a small glare before letting out a sigh and shaking his head a little, scooping more of the sweet pastry into his mouth with a small hum. "What's this anyway? Been writing again?" Courf asked with his fork still in his mouth, making a grab for the notebook.

Nobody was allowed to touch Jehan's notebook. It was his pride and joy, he never left home without it and he especially didn't like people with drinks or food around it. Only Jehan was allowed to eat, drink and touch the notebook. Which was why he grabbed the book and moved it away from Courf's hands before it could be grabbed. Far too embarrassing at any rate, Courf wasn't stupid, he might figure out who the poems were directed towards and then laugh at him. Courf furrowed his eyebrows and frowned, taking the fork from his mouth. "Why can't I read it?" He asked, staring at Jehan.

"Because it isn't finished yet!" Jehan whined slightly, clutching the book close to himself as if it was a teddy bear. "You know I don't let people touch it…" He added with a mutter, looking out of the nearby window.

"Awww…. Come on Jehan!" Courf pouted, laying his head on his arms which were crossed on the glass table, giving Jehan a 'pretty please' look with his eyes. Jehan felt his heart skip a beat, he hated denying Courf, but rules were rules.

"No." Jehan stated, shoving the notebook into his bag with a final pout. "Why are you here?" Jehan asked eventually, raising a delicate eyebrow at the man. It was odd for him to be out of university so early. Surely Jehan had not been day dreaming for /that/ long. He glanced around the café, making sure that nobody else was here. The action made Courf laugh and sit up again, grinning at the small poet.

"I couldn't be bothered to go to biology." Courf shrugged, often skipping lessons. "I take it you finished early too?" He asked, smiling at the small poet, getting a shy nod in return which made him grin again. "You're wearing that jumper again… do you sleep in it or something?" He joked, ruffling the small man's hair before getting up from the table to order himself a coffee, completely unaware that Jehan had now turned a rather alarming shade of pink. He had been teased in his old schools for acting so much like a girl, but Jehan couldn't help it – wasn't his fault that he wrote poetry, loved flowers and found guys attractive. If only he had someone to really talk to about it all. There was Eponine, also known as Marius' shadow because she was obviously in love with him. Marius being Marius didn't see anything but a friend, it was almost heart breaking and Jehan could almost relate. But other than that, he didn't really know many girls. The Amis consisted of men… great friends, but only men. Enjolras was very much a traditional man and didn't think that women should be involved for it could get dangerous. They were not banned from the meetings or anything, it just nobody seemed to want to come and showed no interest.

Jehan glanced over his shoulder at Courf, letting out a small sigh before turning his attention to his thumbs with yet another sigh. Courf was always sleeping with women, he could not possibly feel the same way as Jehan did… "C'est impossible…" He muttered, taking a sip of his coffee, hoping that some of the others would arrive soon.

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Well? Any good for a first chapter?

Please review! But be nice ~ It's my first Les Mis fan fiction... (and please tell me about any spelling/grammar mistakes that I might have missed.)

Chapter 2 will be up soon! ~


	2. Jehan's cold - 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Les Mis, yadda yadda yadda...

**A/N:** Yes I know, it's REALLY cheesy and all that. But I don't care. This whole fan fiction is going to be rather cheesy!

Anyway, Chapter 2 is up ~ Enjoy

Review/Follow/Favorite and all the jazz!

(if you have any plot twists that you think would be good, then feel free to suggest them.)

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"Marius get your head out of the clouds for god-sake, she isn't going anywhere anytime soon!"

"Grantaire put that wine bottle down, how many times do I have to tell you?!"

"Bahorel! Stop encouraging Grantaire."

"Courfeyrac can you help me please..."

"Gavroche, why are you even here? I thought your sister wanted you to help her out back at your apartment?"

"Grantaire seriously, put the wine bottle down before I take it off you and ban you from alcohol for the rest of the meeting."

"Jehan? Jehan pay attention!"

Jehan snapped out of his day dream to look at a rather annoyed Enjolras who was standing above him with his hands on his waist. The meeting was like any other meeting, consisted of 20 minutes listening to Enjolras rant on about the government and how useless they are, then Grantiare would start drinking because he is bored, making Enjolras annoyed because he wasn't paying attention and then everyone else would lose focus and nothing would make them focus back on the matter at hand. As usual Jehan was not really paying attention, it had gotten worse recently, but he couldn't help it, especially with everyone talking and messing around. Jehan blinked up at the glaring Enjolras before giving him a grin.

"Sorry, Enjolras… what were you saying?" He asked, getting a groan from about half of the room, knowing that they would have to sit through the speech AGAIN. The various shouts and moans from everyone caused Jehan to shy away and slump down in his seat, muttering a mouse-like apology to everyone. What made it worse was Courfeyrac didn't even stick up for him this time, usually the centre of the group would stand up for Jehan when people moaned at him or bullied him, but even Courf seemed to be distracted. Not with Gavroche who had given up trying to get his attention, but with something else. Jehan wanted to ask what was on the man's mind, but then again he didn't want to make it seem he was nosy or say something wrong that would completely ruin any chance of them being together. Instead Jehan sat in his chair, looking over at Courf with a worried expression. "What's wrong with Courf?" Jehan eventually asked after Grantaire eventually came to sit down at the tables again.

Grantaire looked over his shoulder, clutching his wine bottle close to him, before shrugging. "No idea. Been like that since the meetin' started. Maybe he is in Looovee.." He slurred out the words, causing Jehan to move away slightly to stop himself from being spat on. The last word though almost made Jehan's heart break. In love? How could he be in love? Who was he in love with? The whole thing got Jehan very worried. He turned to look at the man on the other side of the room, as if he was about to cry.

"You alright, Jehan? You look as if you have seen a ghost or something…" Grantaire asked, noticing the change in the young poet. Jehan cleared his throat, giving the drunkard a sheepish smile and a small nod. Grantaire shrugged before turning his attention back to his Apollo, grinning at Enjolras and flirting with him in the most obvious manner.

"I think I might just go. I'm not feeling very well…" Jehan muttered, "Not like anyone will miss me anyway." He mumbled again, feeling rather sorry for himself as he stood up, grabbing his bag from under the table and walking towards the stairs. He glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on Courf a few moments longer before heading down the steps quietly, as if he had never been there in the first place. He was not completely right, although nobody really paid attention to the poets exit, Courfeyrac was the first to notice that he was no longer in the room. The absence of his little poet made him frown, looking around the room. Last time he had seen him was when he was talking to Grantaire about something…

"Grantaire? Where did Jehan go?" He asked, walking over to Grantaire who was leaning on a rather unhappy looking Enjolras. Both men looked around confused to what their comrade was saying, Enjolras pushed the drunkard off of him before straightening his red jacket.

"I don't know where he went. He must have gone home?" Enjolras suggested with a raised eyebrow, he could not make another comment though due to Grantaire practically jumping back onto him, causing a low growl to form in Enjolras' throat. "GRANTAIRE IF YOU DON'T SOBER UP I WILL MAKE YOU!" All Grantaire did was purr as if the whole idea was exciting. Enjolras scoffed and tried to focus on the maps and papers in front of him.

Giving up, Courf headed towards the stairs and out of the front door of the café. He knew where the young poet lived, although nobody had really been around his flat. Courf had noted over time that Jehan could be extremely secluded when he wanted to be and yet still completely adorable at the same time. It didn't take Courfeyrac long to find the right apartment block. Although the elevator wasn't working, much to his great annoyance. It meant he was going to have to climb 8 flights of stairs just to get to the right floor. "How does Jehan do this every day?" he muttered, shaking his head a little. Maybe that is why his little Poet could eat so many pastries and stay so small.

That's what Courf liked about the small poet. He was tiny and his clothes were always too big for him, the way that he braided his hair made Courf to want to hug him and never let him ago. There were so many small things that Courf had noticed about the little man that nobody else had. Like the fact that Jehan didn't like sweetener and had exactly 3 ½ teaspoons of sugar in whatever hot drink he has. He doesn't like red roses because they are too cliché but he loves making daisy chains to wear around his almost ginger hair. Jehan didn't like people touching his notebooks, especially after Grantaire poured wine all over one of them by accident, but he was constantly writing poetry in them. He was taking Literature at University along with a couple of other language/writing based subjects. Courf had noticed during lunch breaks that Jehan ate his fruit first, then his sandwich (it was a chicken wrap on a Thursday) and finally his sweet pastry. He didn't like pears or oranges and only ever ate pear flavored items, never the fruit.

Somebody might have laughed at Courf, but surely he was not the only one to notice these things. Maybe it was just him… but Courf cared a great deal for the poet, he became worried whenever he was not at meetings or at the university. He cared for him probably more than he should, nobody else knew him as much as Courf did. But Courf was still trying to figure out if the poet felt the same way. He wrote poetry about everyone in the Amis, but there had been nothing written about him. And his latest piece that he was writing? Usually he would be so proud to read it out, but this time he kept it all to himself. He had done the same in the past and even though he has managed to read those poems, the name of the subject had never been given away or any idea. Jehan was in love, it was obvious. But Courf didn't know who it was…

He finally reached the right floor, panting slightly and resting his hands on his knees before walking around the floor to find the write door. Was Courf feeling jealous that Jehan was in love with someone that wasn't him? Courf hesitated before knocking on the door, frowning in thought before rapping lightly on the wood. "Jehan? Are you alright?" He called out, waiting for a reply. But none came. He knocked again, a little harder this time. "Jehan?" He called out slightly louder.

He heard the pat of feet against a wooden floor behind the door and someone quickly unlocking the door, opening it to peak out from behind it. "Courf? What are you doing here?" Jehan frowned, hiding behind the door.

"You left the meeting without telling anyone… I was just checking that you were alright." Courf smiled, although his smile soon faded when he saw Courf clutching a blanket around himself. "You're not ill, are you?" He asked with a worried expression and pushed the door open fully, much to Jehan's great horror.

"I'm fi-" He started, letting out a small whine when Courf pushed the door open to reveal Jehan wrapped up in a large blanket and clutching a water bottle close. "I just feel a little tired. I'll be alright." Jehan smiled sheepishly, looking at his bare feet on his wooden floor. He wasn't sure if his cheeks were flushed because of his obvious cold or because Courf was standing at his door checking on him.

"Why are you out of bed! Get back into bed immediately!" Courf almost yelled pushing past the small poet and into his flat, removing his shoes before practically dragging Courf by the wrist to the closest room. Thankfully it was a bedroom, and by the mess everywhere, he judged that it was Jehan's and not the spare. Papers with scribbles and drawings on them were … well /everywhere/. He could hear Jehan complaining like a child behind him, but Courf ignore the complaints and practically threw Jehan into the bed, throwing the quilt over him. Grabbing a couple of the blankets from the floor, he threw them on top as well.

"Courf! I don't need you to look after me, I'm sure you have other things to do…" Jehan mumbled from under the pile of blankets. He was grateful for the company, however. Jehan never liked being alone when he was ill. He watched as Courf disappeared, presumably to find a thermometer and tablets.

"Take these." He heard, looking over at Courf who was now sitting on the edge of Jehan's bed with his hand out, holding two small tablets and a glass of water in the other hand. Jehan shook his head, not liking the idea of taking tablets, they made him gag at the best of times. "Jehan. Take the tablets, please." Courf said sternly. Jehan pouted, sheepishly taking the tablets from the other and popping them into his mouth, immediately downing the water and pulling a face of disgust. "Good boy. Now get some sleep…"

"You're not going to leave, are you?" Jehan asked sleepily, he was like a small child when ill.

Courf chuckled, shaking his head at him, "No, I won't leave. Sleep, my little poet."

Those were the last words Jehan heard before he drifted into a deep sleep, snuggled up under the numerous blankets. He had completely forgotten about the numerous poems written about Courf thrown around his room, of course unnamed, but still there for Courf to read whilst Jehan slept.


	3. Jehan's cold - 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis, yadda yadda yadda...

**A/N:** Sorry this took so long guys, bit of a manic social life at the moment. Anyway! Here you go, finally… chapter 3 ~ Enjoy my lovelies.

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**Jehan's POV**

Dreams filled with his friends, his family and those he holds close. Jehan was walking down a path that ran through the middle of a large green field that was covered in flowers. Flowers all shapes and sizes, different types of flowers and different smells reached his nose. Then, just at squinting distance, he could see a figure that appeared to be waving. Jehan looked about himself to see if it was him that this figure was waving at. Appearing to be alone he waved back with a smile. Something told him that he already knew who the strange figure was… the man was in all of his dreams and even in some of his nightmares. As the two began to walk closer together, the once blue and shining sky got darker and suddenly everything became cold. Just as Jehan was about to reach out and hold onto the other, the man disappeared – well more like he melted away into a puddle of water on the earth before being soaked in. Jehan cried out.

Jehan cried out and sat up bolt in his bed, panting. The blankets that Courf had gotten him were scattered on the floor and he had a dry mouth. Looking around, Jehan quickly picked up his drink, gulping the cold water down thirstily and letting out a sigh of relief. That was when Jehan looked around his room again… but it was different. He pinched himself to check that he was definitely awake and flinched; rubbing his arm… yes he was definitely awake… but why was his room… tidy? When Jehan went to sleep, Courf had been sat on his bed with that cute smile he always had and his room had been covered in his papers. But… they were all stacked on his, now suddenly organised, desk in two neat piles. Jehan blinked, his brain still trying to work out what was going on until it dawned on him… Courf… had gone through his room and tidied up… he had gone through his poetry and organised it… he had… /organised/ it. Which meant that he had also read it…

Jehan shot out of bed quicker than he ever had before and skidded out into his hallway, looking around frantically for the other man. His shoes were still by the door, which meant he was still here. Jehan couldn't believe what an idiot he had been, letting Courf look after him in a room that was covered in poetry written about him. What if Courf got jealous, thinking it was someone else? No that wouldn't be it… What if he was freaked out by it and thought Jehan was weird and he was waiting in Jehan's living room with the rest of the Amis to laugh at him. Jehan would never be able to show his face in front of them ever again. This was unbelievably embarrassing… why? Why did this have to happen now? Why couldn't it go back to the way it was before? Jehan took a deep breath, an attempt to calm himself down, before pushing the door that led into his living room/kitchen open and peeked round it.

A delicious scent filled his nose, instantly making Jehan's mouth water and walk further into the room.

"You're awake! Good timing, I'm pretty much finished." He heard Courf say happily before continuing to hum whatever tune he had been singing.

"Wh-what? You can cook?" Jehan asked, sleepily. Wait, he knew that Courf could cook! What a stupid thing to say, now he will really think you're weird… nice one Jehan.

"A little… Enough to survive on." Courf chuckled in response, dishing up the meal he had been formulating before placing it on the island counter with a set of cutlery. "Here you go, this'll make you feel better." He said softly, ruffling the poet's hair with a smile before plating himself up some food and sitting down opposite, Jehan.

"How long was I asleep?" Jehan asked sheepishly, his cheeks still bright red – although he doubted it was from being ill.

"Almost a day and a half…" Courf smiled, taking a forkful of the pasta and shovelling it into his mouth hungrily.

Jehan blushed again, looking at the plate of warm food before picking up his fork and tasting the meal. A smile broke out onto his features and Jehan continued to eat the pasta with a new found enthusiasm. He wasn't sure if it was because he was hungry or if the meal Courf had cooked for /him/ was delicious. All he could hear was Courfeyrac laughing softly.

**Courf's POV**

Courf watched on as his friend shovelled the food into his little mouth hungrily. He had been so worried about his friend last night that he had actually spent the entire night holding the poet's hand and dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth just to try and bring his temperature down. Courf had almost been at the point of calling a doctor, but he appeared to be better now. He was glad… but at the same time, Courf was worried. As Jehan had been sleeping, Courf had decided to clean up his room a little bit… put some order to the room. It was his chance to read some of Jehan's poetry as well but now he wished he never had. A huge sense of jealousy was building in the pit of his stomach… It was obvious that his friend was in love, but not a single piece of his poetry had a name on it to say who it was… it couldn't possibly be Courf because that'd be too perfect.

But then again, when Courf was tidying the small poet's room… he could have sworn he heard Jehan say his name whilst he was sleeping. But at the time, Courf had just blown it off as his own wishful thinking. But if he had said it… then that would mean Jehan had been dreaming about him? Courf needed to confront everyone back at the café about who Jehan's potential crush could be… if it was someone that Courf didn't like then he was going to go all Irish on their asses and make them swear not to break his heart. If they broke his little poet's heart then he would break their face.

Courf tightened his grip on the fork in his hand, making his knuckles go white.

"Courf? Are you alright?" He heard, the familiar voice snapping him out of his thoughts and a smile breaking across Courf's face. That blush was so adorable… Courf thought to himself as he continued to eat in silence. _What if I confessed? Would that freak Jehan out? But what if it didn't?_ Courf didn't want to ruin his precious relationship with his poet, but then again keeping it all in was starting to cause him agony. If he didn't act soon… then it might be too late. Courf made a mental note to ask Grantaire later, about how he first confessed to Enjolras and how those two became a pair. Naturally Enjolras would deny it but the chemistry between those two was obvious. You could practically smell sex in the air when those two were around.

**Jehan's POV**

_I have to say something about the poetry. Maybe this is the time I could confess to him… at least then I would already be home and I wouldn't be publically humiliated. The only problem would be showing up at the café… that would be a huge no no if everything went wrong. _ Jehan finished his meal in record time, letting out a satisfied noise before slouching back in the chair happily. "That was delicious!" He sighed, forgetting momentarily that: a) Courf was sat right opposite him in his flat, and b) Jehan was still in his PJs…

"Umm… Courf…" Jehan blushed again, twirling his thumbs and looking at his hands.

"What's wrong, mon amis?" He heard Courf say in a serious tone.

"It's about…" _I can't do this… he is going to laugh straight at me and tell me to stop being a child. _"Thanks for cleaning my room…" He said quickly, forcing a smile out. "You didn't…read anything… did you?" He asked, his worse fears coming true when he saw Courf grin back at him.

"Only a few pieces… it's really good Jehan. Keep it up!" Courf gave a small air punch with his fist and winked at Jehan as a form of support before picking up his plates. "Go get showered and dressed, you'll feel better." Jehan looked up at Courf, blushing again before nodding and quickly walking out of the room, practically slamming the bathroom door shut and locking it behind him. Slumping down against the door, Jehan hid his tomato coloured face in his hands.

**Courf's POV**

_Was he going to confess? Why was he all flustered… it was adorable… but why? Maybe he was just feeling ill still… but why did he asked about his poems? Was he really that protective over his work? Or was there really one somewhere that had a name on it. And now he is showering in just the room next door… _ "What are you doing, Courf?" Courf sighed, turning on the tap to start washing up, letting out a rather depressed sounding sigh. "What are you doing?" He muttered, shaking his head.


End file.
